


Looking After

by Gypsywriter135



Series: How to Save a Life [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sheriff gets suspicious, Sheriff's name is John, and doesn't know how to handle it, he's also a worry wart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:01:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gypsywriter135/pseuds/Gypsywriter135
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John loves being a dad, and more specifically, Stiles' dad. But the little boy he had raised and watched grow was becoming someone completely different...</p><p>(Or, the one where Sheriff Stilinski worries and Stiles was never exactly an easy child to raise).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking After

**Author's Note:**

> A few OCs, but they're not really important to the overall story. Also, mentions ADHD, so... yeah.. Not sure if that counts as a warning, but there ya' go. You're warned.
> 
> Also, not beta'd and my proof-reading sucks, so there's probably some typos and stuff...

"Step one, you say we need to talk

He walks

You say sit down it's just a talk

He smiles politely back at you

You stare politely right on through"

\- _How to Save a Life_ by The Fray

 

John Stilinski loved his son. Of course he does; how can a father _not_ love his son (John immediately shoves thoughts of Isaac Lahey’s father out of his mind)?

 

John remembers the day that his wife had told him that she was pregnant. It was one of the happiest days of his life. He loved his wife, and just the thought of a little baby, a tangible symbol of how much they truly loved each other, made him glow with pride. Waiting nine months for the child to be born was the ultimate test of patience for John. He had honestly thought that he was a patient man.

 

He and Elizabeth had both agreed that they didn’t want to know the sex of the baby. So the room was painted a soft green color. Yellow and green and red shirts and toys were purchased. Baby books replaced the magazines and works of fiction. Baby gates were installed. He left his gun at the station instead of bringing it home.

 

The spare room was cleaned of the boxes and junk was moved to the basement. Instead it was replaced with a crib and a changing table and a small dresser. Corners were covered with soft barriers. The refrigerator was filled with baby bottles instead of take out containers. A diaper dispenser appeared next to the garbage can.

 

Elizabeth’s belly grew and grew. John doted on her, not that he didn’t already. But every craving, every mood swing, every step of the way, he was right there beside her to make sure that she was comfortable. At night, when they’d lay in bed, John would put his hand over her swollen belly.

 

The first time it happened, he snatched his hand back, startled. Elizabeth laughed.

 

“It’s okay,” she cooed, reaching over to gently grab his hand. “He’s just excited.”

 

“He?” John asked, letting his wife guide his hand back to her belly.

 

Elizabeth shrugged. “Or she. I don’t know. I just keep thinking of it as a he. Big and strong, just like his father.”

 

The baby jumped under John’s hand, Elizabeth’s on top of his. He looked up at her with wide eyes. She smiled at him and leaned forward to bend over her stomach.

 

“That’s your daddy, baby,” she whispered affectionately. “Say hello.”

 

The baby jumped again. John’s breath hitched. Elizabeth smiled.

 

“Say hello, John,” she muttered. “Your child is happy to see you.”

 

“Hi, baby,” John breathed.

 

Every morning before he left for work, John would kiss his wife goodbye, rub a hand over her belly, press his lips against it, and mutter, “Bye bye, baby.”

 

When he’d return from work, he’d kiss his wife hello, rub a hand over her belly, press his lips against it, and mutter, “hello, baby.”

 

And under his hand, there would be a small, happy jump.

 

And nine months and fourteen days later, his wife called him at the police station.

 

“The baby’s coming,” she said, happiness pouring from her voice.

 

John was a professional. He was specifically trained to handle situations without panic. He knew the proper procedures and how to direct the people present and take care of the surrounding pandemonium.

 

Naturally, John panicked.

 

When he finally made it home, police cruiser lights and siren going, he was worried. He was worried that Elizabeth would have complications, or they wouldn’t get to the hospital in time.

 

“It’s okay,” Elizabeth told him, smiling as she stood in the front doorway, overnight suitcase by her feet and bag slung over her shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about. Turn off the lights and the siren.”

 

Ten minutes later, John wheeled Elizabeth into the hospital. Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting comfortably in a hospital bed, John holding her hand next to her.

 

And then four hours and seven minutes later, at five thirty-six in the morning on June sixteenth, a small child was born to Jonathon and Elizabeth Stilinski.

 

“It’s a boy,” the doctor said, smiling as he wrapped the wailing child in a blanket and handed him to his mother. Elizabeth grinned as she gently took him into her arms, letting her hair fall over her sweaty face and rubbing a finger over tiny cheeks.

 

“Hi,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. She looked away only for a moment to meet her husband’s eyes. John’s entire face was glowing with pride and wonder, and he gripped her hand tighter as he leaned forward to gaze upon the face of his newborn son.

 

“We have a son…” he breathed, words choked as they tried to get over the lump in his throat.

 

“Hi, baby boy,” Elizabeth whispered to the calming baby. “Welcome to the world. I’m your mommy, and this is your daddy.”

 

“Hi, buddy…” John gasped, ignoring the tears that fell down his face.

 

“Do you want to hold him?” Elizabeth asked, shifting to put the baby in John’s arms even as he protested.

 

John didn’t breath when the child was in his grasp. The babe’s crying had ceased, and deep blue eyes gazed up at him briefly before closing and his breathing evened out as he slipped into sleep.

 

“My, God…” John mumbled. The child was tiny; his whole head fit in his father’s palm, his hand the width of one of John’s fingers.

 

“He’s beautiful…” was the only thing he said before he was forced to hand over the baby to the doctor and nurses.

 

A few hours later, after the nurses had taken care of all the necessary procedures, their child was returned to them. Elizabeth had cleaned herself up a bit, and now John sat on the bed with her, arms around her as she held their child. The baby was sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms as Elizabeth hummed quietly.

 

“Look at him, John,” Elizabeth said. “He’s just precious…”

 

“We made that…” John muttered, unable to tear his eyes away from the babe. “We made a tiny human being…”

 

“We’re parents!” Elizabeth giggled, giddy with happiness. She raised her head to grin at her husband, who couldn’t help but smile back. The movement, however, jostled the child, and he scrunched his face before making a fussing sound. His parents’ heads whipped toward him.

 

“Oh, you’re okay,” Elizabeth cooed. “Mommy and daddy were just happy! That’s what you do when you’re happy. You laugh. We’ll teach you all about laughing!”

 

“Your mother does a lot of laughing,” John chuckled, leaning forward.

 

“Don’t let him fool you,” Elizabeth tutted. “Daddy does a lot of laughing too. He just won’t admit it because he snorts when he does it.”

 

“I do not!” John denied, but grinned.

 

The baby yawned, eyes fluttering before gazing up at his parents.

 

“Look at you,” Elizabeth sighed happily. “You are just precious.” She looked at John again. “We still need to name him.”

 

“You can name him whatever you want,” John said. “Though I am partial to John Junior.”

 

Elizabeth glared at him. “We are not naming him Junior.”

 

John shrugged. “Fine. How about Richard, after my father?”

 

“Actually… I was thinking we’d name him after _my_ father…” Elizabeth said quietly. She glanced at John.

 

John cocked his head, frown. “I don’t know… that could be difficult when he grows up for the other kids to pronounce at school…”

 

“I know,” Elizabeth said. “But… you know… my dad was a big part of my life, and I just… It just feels _right_ to name him after him.”

 

Neither spoke for a while, just staring at the baby, who blinked lazily back.

 

“What do you think?” John asked. He reached up and gently tapped a finger on the baby’s tiny nose. “Are you a Genim Stilinski?”

 

The baby opened his mouth in a little goofy smile.

 

“Looks like we have a winner,” Elizabeth laughed. “Genim Jonathon Stilinski.”

 

John grinned and gently took the boy from his wife to press a chaste kiss against his head. “We’ll work on a nickname, buddy. Don’t worry.”

 

“Don’t go putting ideas in his head!” Elizabeth scolded with a smile. “He’s impressionable!”

 

“You’re not impressionable, are ya’?” John asked the baby, who just stared at him. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

 

“John Stilinski, give me our so back so I can smack you.”

 

“What do you think, buddy? Should we listen to mommy? I’m the fun parent. She’s mean. Stay with daddy and I’ll let you eat all the ice cream in the house.”

 

“John!”

 

The sound of laughter echoed around the room and Genim Stilinksi fell asleep with it ringing in his ears as his father gently swayed him back and forth.

 

* * *

 

John groaned as he paced back and forth, a hysterical Genim in his arms. The baby’s cries were reaching epic proportions, and John was reaching the end of his rope. The boy hadn’t stopped crying for five hours; you’d think the kid would tire himself out. But the child was inconsolable. Nothing John did calmed him; he tried changing his diaper, feeding him, singing to him, trying to get him to sleep, playing with him… Nothing.

 

It was three months since John and Elizabeth had brought their new son home, and Elizabeth had taken the night off at John’s insistence to spend some much needed time away for herself. So she had taken the car and driven to the next county over to visit her best friend.

 

John was sure that he could handle Genim; he’d been fine with the baby all these months. There hadn’t been a single problem. But now John was in way over his head. And he didn’t want to call Elizabeth; his wife deserved to enjoy herself without worrying about the baby or John _with_ the baby.

 

He raised the crying boy up to his eye level. “Come on, Genim,” he pleaded. “Please stop crying.”

 

The child only continued to wail.

 

“Genim…” John begged. “Come on, buddy. Tell daddy what you need…”

 

The baby let out a terrible scream.

 

John scrunched his face in pain. He was tired, oh so tired, and had to be at work in six hours. But his kid just wouldn’t. Stop. Crying.

 

“Buddy, please,” John tried again. He made his way to the rocking chair in Genim’s room and sat down, placing the baby in his arms again as he began to slowly rock back and forth. Genim’s cries didn’t cease.

 

“Baby, please,” John said. “Daddy’s tired. Daddy’s so tired…” He maneuvered the baby so that he was lying on his stomach on John’s chest. John’s huge hand rested gently on his back, rubbing up and down soothingly as he continued to rock.

 

Surprisingly, Genim’s cries began to die down. After about fifteen minutes, the child was hiccupping softly against the wet spot his tears and drool had left on John’s shirt. John sighed in relief.

 

“That’s a good boy,” he murmured, leaning his head back. “See? We’re good here. We don’t need mommy. We got this, right?”

 

John smiled as his son’s breathing evening out as the child fell asleep and he closed his own eyes briefly.

 

When Elizabeth came home the next morning and made her way up to her son’s room, she had to go back downstairs to grab the camera. The scene of her husband asleep in the rocking chair with their son sleeping peacefully on his chest was just too precious to not capture in a photograph.

 

Later, she had the picture printed and placed in a frame. On the back of the photo in her flowing script were the words “My Boys” and it sat on her nightstand in plain view.

 

* * *

 

John groaned as Genim yelled for his parents from his room. Elizabeth punched him on the arm as she rolled over.

 

“It’s your turn,” she muttered.

 

“I did it last time,” John murmured, cracking open an eye to look at the time. Three twenty-four. Lovely.

 

“I put up with him all day, you get to do it at night.”

 

“I have to work in three hours.”

 

The glare Elizabeth gave him was impressive.

 

“Mooommmyyyy!” a high-pitched voice called. “Daadddyyyy!”

 

“Alright, alright,” John groaned, pushing himself up from the bed and swinging his legs over the side. He yawned and rubbed a hand over his eyes before rising to his feet, making his way to his bedroom door. He padded down the hall to his son’s room and pushed open the door, sliding inside the dark blue room.

 

There was a nightlight that cast stars on the ceiling of the room, spinning slowly in a hypnotizing motion. In the corner by the window was a small bed, a gate against the one end so that the tiny boy sitting up and clutching his rocket ship blanket to his chest wouldn’t roll off during the night.

 

Genim was staring at him with wide eyes, bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

 

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” John asked, heading over to his baby boy. He lowered the barrier and sat down on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on Genim’s lower leg comfortingly.

 

The little boy pointed to the window, where a giant tree was scraping against the glass. “There’s a monster going to get me,” he whined, sniffling.

 

John looked over to the window, frowning. “It’s just a tree, Genim.”

 

Genim shook his head violently. “No! It’s a monster! It’s a monster and it’s gonna eat me and I don’t want to be eated, daddy!”

 

“Whoa, whoa!” John exclaimed, reaching forward to gently cup the boy’s face as he began to choke on his breaths. “Hey, it’s okay, buddy! Look at me, Genim.” His son’s dark brown eyes rose to meet his. He smiled. “There we go. Now take a deep breath, okay? That’s a good boy.”

 

Genim took a deep, shuddering breath and raised his hand to wipe at the tears on his face. “I don’t want to be eated, daddy,” he whispered, eyes wide.

 

“Oh, no, baby,” John soothed. “No, nothing is ever going to harm you, okay? Mommy and daddy would never let anything or anyone hurt you.”

 

Genim nodded. “’Cause you’re a superhero?”

 

John cocked his head to the side. “Where’d you get that idea?”

 

“Mommy said that you fight bad guys,” the boy explained. “That’s your job! She told me, daddy! And mommy doesn’t lie.” He stated the last matter-of-factly, as if it was as true as the grass was green and the sky was blue.

 

“Well, yes…” John admitted. “I fight bad guys, but I’m a policeman, not a superhero.”

 

“No!” Genim denied, getting that look on his face that said he was going to be stubborn about this. “You’re a superhero! Policemans are superheroes! And superheroes protect people from monsters, like Batman! So you have to be like Batman and protect me from the monsters, okay?”

 

John smiled despite himself. “I’ll always protect you, Genim.”

 

“And mommy?” Genim asked.

 

John chuckled. “Son, mommy could probably protect us better than I could.”

 

“But… I don’t get it…”

 

“See…” John sighed, trying to explain it to a four year old. “You remember when we were watching that show with the lions?” Genim nodded vigorously. “Well, remember when the hyenas came over to the baby lions, and the momma lion chased them away because she was protecting them? Remember how mad she got?”

 

“So mommy’s like a lion?”

 

“Yup! And you don’t mess with a lion’s cubs!” John leapt forward and tickled Genim’s tummy, making the boy giggle. John smiled and pulled back. “So you see? If there were any monsters out there, which there aren’t, they wouldn’t stand a chance against your momma!”

 

Genim grinned. “And you, daddy! ‘Cause you’re a superhero! And mommy’s a superhero too, just like Cat Woman!”

 

“Whatever you say, kiddo,” John said. He glanced to the window, where the silhouette of a tree hovered. “That tree may seem scary, but it’s just trembling in fear, because your mommy and daddy are in here and it’s scared of us. It’s asking you to save it from our powerful wrath. There’s no reason to be afraid of it.”

 

The boy looked thoughtfully at the window before narrowing his eyes. “I’m not afraid of you!” he said, sticking his tongue out at the glass.

 

John smiled and reached down to pull at the covers. “Alright, Robin,” his son beamed at that, “let’s get you tucked back into bed. Superhero sidekicks need their rest and mommy’s gonna need help taking down that buffalo tomorrow.”

 

Genim squirmed down under the covers and John leaned down to press a gentle kiss against his forehead.

 

“Now go to sleep,” he said softly.

 

“’Night, daddy,” Genim replied, turning over onto his side and burrowing his head into his pillow, closing his eyes.

 

“I love you,” John muttered, running a hand over his child’s hair before getting up, putting up the gate, and heading back to his own room where he crawled into bed. Elizabeth turned over and cuddled into his side.

 

“Everything okay?” she asked softly.

 

“He’s fine,” John told her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

 

“That’s because no one messes with our baby. They’ll have to get through Cat Woman and Batman first.”

 

John chuckled and closed his eyes. “You got that right.”

 

* * *

 

John swept up a giggling Genim in his arms as he walked down the steps, dressed for work, and carried him into the kitchen, where Elizabeth was cooking breakfast.

 

“Hun, I found a something in the house. You might want to take a look,” he said seriously, face completely composed.

 

Elizabeth turned around from the skillet, a plate of pancakes in her hand. She grinned and cocked her head to the side.

 

“What would that be, dear?” she asked, trying not to laugh at her son’s giggles.

 

John held up their son by his underarms in front of him. “Found this little guy sitting at the top of the steps.”

 

“Oh, look at that cute little face!” Elizabeth cooed, reaching up to pinch Genim’s chubby little cheeks. “I could just eat him up!”

 

Genim laughed harder.

 

“What do you think we should do with him?” John asked, winking at her.

 

“Daddy, no!” the boy shrieked, squirming in his father’s grasp. “It’s me! It’s Genim!”

 

“I don’t know a Genim…” Elizabeth said, tapping a finger on her mouth as she spun to flip the last pancake on the plate.

 

“Mommy!”

 

John turned the boy around so that Genim was facing him, his little legs kicking the air as he tried to free himself. “You know, you could be a bad guy.” Genim’s eyes widened comically. “Now listen here, young man,” John scolded lightly, a fake, business voice on. “I’m a policeman. I have to take any bad guys into the station.”

 

Genim’s smile was contagious, and soon John just couldn’t help himself. He laughed and set the boy down in his kiddie chair as Elizabeth set a small pancake shaped like Mickey Mouse in front of him.

 

“Eat up, kiddo!” John said, pulling out his own chair and sitting at the table. “If you’re gonna help me at work, you need to be well fed! And policemen always drink their milk!”

 

Genim nodded, mouth stuffed with syrup and pancakes. Elizabeth chuckled and poured herself a cup of tea. “Chew, Genim,” she reminded him. “And when you’re done, you can brush your teeth and get dressed.”

 

John smiled at her as Elizabeth helped herself to a pancake and broke it into pieces before popping one in her mouth. He never could get over the way the woman ate pancakes. Instead, he flipped open the paper, took a forkful of his own pancake, and began to read. The table was quiet for all of three minutes before the sound of the last of the milk being sucked through a bendy straw filled the air. John lowered one end of the paper to look at his son.

 

“Can I be excused?” Genim asked, bouncing in his seat.

 

“I don’t know, can you?” Elizabeth asked, smirking.

 

Genim made a face. “ _May_ I be excused?” he reiterated.

 

Elizabeth waved a hand in the air. “Go,” she laughed. Genim was out of his seat and up the stairs in a flash. “Make sure you brush your teeth!” his mother called.

 

John chuckled, turning the page before taking a sip of his coffee.

 

“Are you sure you want to take him with you today?” Elizabeth asked quietly as the sound of running water through the pipes could be heard in the walls. “You’ll be working all day and you know how he can get…”

 

“It’ll be okay,” John assured her, laying the paper on the table and looking at her. “I just have a few rounds to make, and a few hours of paperwork. He’ll fall asleep in the car and he can color or whatever while I write reports.”

 

Elizabeth bit her lip. “I don’t know, John…” she muttered. “He’s just so energetic… I don’t want you to get mad if he does something you don’t like at work…”

 

John reached a hand over and took his wife’s own, pulling it up to press a kiss against her knuckles. “I know,” he said. “I’m perfectly okay with him coming with me. Besides, this gives you a chance to have some alone time yourself.”

 

Elizabeth still looked doubtful, but the sound of little feet running down the steps stopped her from saying anything. Both she and John turned to look at their son as he came flying into the kitchen.

 

“I’m ready!” he said, looking up at his parents, practically vibrating with excitement. “Let’s go, daddy!”

 

“Whoa there, little man!” John chuckled. He let go of his wife’s hand and waved Genim over. The boy bounded over immediately and John bent down to pick him up and set him on his knee. “We have a few rules to go over before we leave.”

 

Genim nodded seriously. Elizabeth got up from the table and moved around the kitchen.

 

“One,” John said, holding up a finger. “This is where daddy works, so there’s going to be lots of people there. You know a few of daddy’s friends, but other people will be there. You aren’t allowed to talk to someone unless I tell you who they are, got it?”

 

Genim nodded. John grinned and held up another finger. “Okay. Rule number two. When daddy is talking to someone, you aren’t allowed to interrupt, no matter what, okay?” Another nod. “Three. You have to listen to daddy. If I say to stay somewhere, you _have_ to stay there, no matter what. And rule number four is that daddy’s work isn’t home. The things there are not toys. You aren’t allowed to touch anything without asking me first. Do you understand all that?”

 

His son nodded his head so fast that John was surprised it was still attached when he was finished.

 

“I’ll be real good, daddy, I swear,” Genim told him.

 

“That’s a good boy,” John smiled, reaching over Genim’s head and snagging his coffee cup. He brought it to his lips and drank the rest of the contents in two large gulps before setting it back on the table.

 

“And rule number five,” Elizabeth said, coming up to pluck their son off his father’s lap and hug him close as John rose and brushed himself off. She pressed a kiss to Genim’s forehead and pulled him away to look into his large eyes. She smiled. “Have fun.”

 

“I always have fun with daddy!” Genim told her, matching his mother’s grin. She nodded and handed the boy over to his father before pressing a Batman tin lunchbox into John’s free hand along with a Batman plastic bookbag.

 

“He’s got peanut butter and jelly for lunch, carrot sticks, pudding, a juicebox, and a cookie,” she said as they walked to the door. “There’s a coloring book, a packet of crayons, his Batman car, and his toy music maker to play with if he gets bored.”

 

“I’ve got this, Elizabeth,” John told her when they were at the door. He turned around and pressed a kiss to her lips. “We’ll see you later for dinner, okay? I love you.”

 

Elizabeth nodded, biting her lip. “I love you too. Be safe.” He opened the door and walked to his cruiser in their driveway. John placed his son’s things on the floor of the passenger seat and set Genim in his car seat, buckling him up snuggly and ignoring the constant chattering before walking around and getting in himself. He pulled out and they both waved to the woman, who was standing in the doorway, frowning.

 

“Can we ride with the siren on?!” Genim asked, grinning at his father as they pulled up to the corner of their street.

 

John chuckled. “Not now, buddy. Maybe later. Right now, we just gotta get to work, alright?”

 

“’Cause the siren is only for when you’re catching bad guys?”

 

“Yes. The siren is for when I’m catching bad guys.”

 

“But sometimes the bad guys get away?”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“But you get them eventually, right?”

 

“Eventually.”

 

“’Cause you’re the bestest policeman there is, right?”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

 

“But you are, daddy!”

 

“If you say so, Genim.”

 

“I do say so! And so does mommy! She said that you could be the leader of the policemans one day!”

 

“Oh, she did, did she?”

 

“Uh huh! And I believe her! You’re the bestest and the goodest and the smartest policeman in the whole world!”

 

“Aw, thanks, buddy!”

 

“You’re welcome, daddy!”

 

John smiled as Genim continued to ramble about policemen and superheroes, chiming in every few minutes as they drove. About ten minutes later, they pulled into the station and John got out of the car, walking around to the other side to get his son out. He knelt on the ground as he pulled out the back pack and lunch box.

 

“Remember our rules?” he asked seriously.

 

“I remember!” Genim told him, nodding his head. “I’ll follow all the rules forever!”

 

“Good boy,” John smiled, rubbing his hand over Genim’s head as he stood. He gathered his belongings under one arm and reached down so that his son could hold onto his free hand and they crossed the parking lot to enter the station.

 

John walked down the hallway to the offices, nodding at the receptionist in the office behind the glass windows. Genim was silent, mouth hanging open as he took in all the pictures and other things. John knew it was only a matter of time before the questions came tumbling out.

 

When they reached the main floor, where cubicles filled with people and desks were, John gently tugged the boy over to a familiar face.

 

“Manson!” he called, and the large man turned away from the coffee pot, grinning when he saw John and Genim.

 

“John!” his partner greeted and bent low to crouch in front of the five year old. “And Genim! Hey, little man!”

 

“Manny!” Genim cried, smiling, looking up at the elder man.

 

“What’re ya’ doin’ here?” Manson asked.

 

“I’m gonna be a policeman, like daddy!” Genim answered. He craned his head to look up at John. “Right?”

 

“You betcha,” John chuckled.

 

“Well,” Manson said, standing and turning around and digging around under the coffee table in the cabinet. “You’re gonna need some proper gear, little buddy.” He turned to face them again and Genim gasped at what he was holding. Manson laughed and placed the giant police hat on his head; the brim ended up closer to Genim’s chin than head. He then fastened a little star that read “Deputy” on the front of the child’s shirt.

 

“There!” the large man said. “Now ya’ look tha part!”

 

Genim giggled and pushed the hat up on his head so that it nearly fell off the back of his head. He grinned up at his father.

 

“Look, daddy!” he exclaimed. “I’m a policeman!”

 

“You sure are,” John smiled back. “Come on, let’s get going to daddy’s office.”

 

“John,” Manson said, turning to his partner. “I’ll take the little tyke while ya’ get caught up on your paperwork.”

 

John shook his head. “No, I can’t do that to you,” he replied. “He’s a terror.”

 

“It’s no problem, really,” Manson told him. “I’ll keep an eye on him, show him around. I’m sure the fella’s would be more than happy to entertain him. Plus, you got him for your rounds anyways.”

 

John frowned, then looked down at his son, who was playing with his Deputy’s badge.

 

“Well, alright,” he agreed, handing over Genim’s backpack. He bent down to talk to his son. “Genim, Manny’s gonna take you around the station while daddy gets some work done. How’d you like that?”

 

Genim frowned. “But I wanna work with you…” he said, sadness coating his voice.

 

“Aw, your dad’s just gonna be writing reports all morning,” Manson chimed him, Genim’s head whipping up to look at him. “It’ll be really boring. After lunch though, you can go with him in the car. I’ll show you all the cool stuff your dad misses out on when he’s here.”

 

John could see the struggle that his son was having with himself. Part of him really wanted to just stay with his father, but the other part, the little kid part, just wanted to explore and have a good time.

 

“It’s okay, Genim,” John told him. “I’ll pick you up for lunch and then we’ll get back in the car. How’s that sound?”

 

“To catch bad guys?” his son asked.

 

John grinned. “Yes, to catch bad guys.”

 

Genim chewed on his lower lip for a moment before nodding and smiling. “Okay!” he cried.

 

His father chuckled and stood up. “Now, I want you to listen to Manny, okay? Those rules I told you before still stand when you’re with him, got it?”

 

“Got it!” Genim agreed.

 

“Aw, don’t be a spoil sport, John,” Manson tutted. He reached down and picked up the child and Genim squealed with delight as they began walking down the hall. “We’ll have tons of fun while your father gets to do boring reports all morning.”

 

“Bye, daddy!” Genim called over Manson’s shoulder, waving as they went.

 

John waved back, listening as his son began to ask questions left and right, barely letting his partner get an answer in before he was shooting off another.

 

All in all, it turned out to be a good idea that Manson had taken Genim for the morning, John got a lot of work done, much of which wouldn’t have if his son had been climbing around him and distracting him. And he knew that he was in good hands; he’d trust Manson with his life.

 

So right around lunch time, John filed away the last of his reports, grabbed his son’s lunchbox, and headed out into the floor to search for him and Manson.

 

He didn’t have to look far; there was loud laughter coming from the sheriff’s office and John poked his head around the door, smiling.

 

Most of the police force was gathered around the sheriff’s desk, Genim sitting in the middle. There seemed to be a pile of uncooked noodles covering the surface, as well as sticking to the boy’s hair and face with glue. There was a black marker in his hand and he was drawing on a large piece of paper.

 

“What’s going on here?” John asked, stepping into the door. The whole group looked up and Genim’s grin got impossibly wider.

 

“Daddy, look!” he cried, tugging the paper up and showing his father the barely recognizable shape of a man made out of pasta noodles. “I made a you!”

 

John chuckled, walking over and picking off the noodles from his son’s face and hair. “Oh, really?”

 

Genim nodded and bent over again, coloring inside the noodles. “And look! Mr. Hershey said I should give you a mustache, so I gave you a mustache!”

 

“Oh?” John asked, raising an eyebrow at the youngest member of the police force. The kid had the guts to grin at him.

 

“And then Mr. Hobbs stuck a macaroni in his nose!”

 

The room erupted into laud laughter, and John turned to a young man sitting backwards in a chair, concerned. “Luke?”

 

Luke waved a hand in the air, a small smile on his face. “It’s okay. Not the first time and won’t be the last.”

 

John frowned. “I dunno… you’re lucky it didn’t get stuck.”

 

“It did get stuck!” Genim said, standing up on the table and John glanced worriedly at the other man.

 

“It’s okay,” Luke chuckled. “It made the kid laugh. Totally worth it.”

 

“It’ll come out, though… right?” John asked. Genim walked over the table, crunching the noodles under his shoes and began drawing on the sheriff’s arm with the marker. The man just grinned and offered him tips on how to improve the artwork.

 

Luke shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

 

John sighed and rolled his eyes as he reached over and plucked his son from his boss’s desk, flinging him over one shoulder. Genim laughed.

 

“Alright, you little terror,” he playfully growled. “Let’s go get some lunch so daddy can get back to work.”

 

“Yay! We’re gonna go catch bad guys!” Genim cried as John turned around and walked towards the door.

 

“Tell your new friends goodbye.”

 

“Bye!” He could feel Genim waving his arms wildly behind him.

 

A chorus of “bye,” “see ya’ kiddo!” and “talk your dad into that mustache!” rang out behind him as John headed to the cafeteria, where he grabbed a lunch quickly from the line and sat down at a table, gently plopping Genim next to him. He placed the kid’s lunchbox in front of him, opened it and took out the juicebox, inserting the straw before laying out the sandwich that Elizabeth had made for him.

 

“Alright, kiddo,” he said, taking his own seat. “Let’s eat!”

 

Genim didn’t need to be told twice, already digging into the sandwich and talking animatedly about his morning. John chimed in every once in a while, but mostly just nodded and smiled and ate.

 

At six, John punched out and scooped up a drowsy Genim, carrying him to the car. He nodded at Lily at the front and said a goodnight to Manson, who smiled softly at the tired boy.

 

“How’d you like coming to work with your dad, kiddo?” he asked quietly.

 

Genim smiled at him sleepily. “It was awesome!” A little of his energy returned with the excitement of today. “I want to come to work with daddy every day!”

 

“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, there,” John chuckled.

 

Genim yawned, and Manson grinned. He ruffled the boy’s hair and turned to John. “See you tomorrow, partner?”

 

“Sure thing,” John agreed. He gently jostled his shoulder. “Right now, I gotta get this little guy home before he drools all over my uniform.”

 

Manson laughed and John waved one last goodbye before packing up the car and driving home. His son deflated more in the passenger’s seat, but when they pulled in their driveway and began to make their way inside, all of his energy came rushing back as he ran in the house.

 

“Mommy!” John followed at a slower pace and when he entered the kitchen, Elizabeth was smiling as she finished setting the table, Genim talking a mile a minute.

 

“He wastes no time,” John chuckled, coming over to kiss his wife.

 

“Alright, baby,” Elizabeth laughed, picking Genim up and setting him in his chair. “Tell me all about your day.”

 

That was all Genim needed as he launched into a play-by-play about his day. John sat eating, smiling and interjecting every now and then with comments of his own.

 

“And then, and then, and then,” Genim gasped excitedly, “and then daddy let me make calls to Manny in the car, and we caught a bad guy!”

 

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Did you now?”

 

Genim nodded vigorously. “Yeah! He was in a car and daddy caught him with his lights and had to write him a letter in his book so that he could serve justice!”

 

Elizabeth looked disapprovingly at John, who grinned slightly and ducked his head over his plate.

 

“You chased someone with him in the car?” she hissed, Genim continuing on, oblivious.

 

“I was on rounds,” John said. “What was I supposed to do?”

 

Elizabeth just frowned.

 

“Oh, come on. He loved it.”

 

“I don’t like it,” Elizabeth glared.

 

John shrugged and continued eating, avoiding his wife’s eyes. It wasn’t long until it was finished. He cleaned up the kitchen while Elizabeth went upstairs to give their son a bath following when he was done. He got to the bathroom just as Elizabeth picked Genim up, wrapped in a heavy towel and eyes drooping shut on his mother’s shoulder.

 

Elizabeth dried Genim off gently and slipped him into pajamas before laying him down in bed and pulling the covers up. John came over and bent over him as Elizabeth tucked him in.

 

“Did you have a good time today, sweetie?” Elizabeth asked softly as Genim turned over on his side and closed his eyes.

 

“Yeah,” the child muttered. “I wanna go to work with daddy everyday…” the last of the sentence tapered off as Genim fell swiftly to sleep.

 

Elizabeth smiled and leaned forward to kiss the boy. John did the same and they both stood up. John put up the gate and Elizabeth turned on the night light and they shut the light off as they closed the door softly behind them and headed downstairs.

 

“Maybe you should take him to the station more often,” Elizabeth mused as the couple curled up on the couch together, John flicking on the television. “You tired him out.”

 

John hummed in response, leaning his head on his wife’s shoulder.

 

Elizabeth chuckled softly, taking his hand. “Looks like he tired you out, too.”

 

“He just talks _so much_ ,” John groaned. “I swear, he just says everything that comes to mind. There’s absolutely _no_ filter.”

 

“Think of all the wonderful things you miss out on when you’re at work and I’m at home with him all day.”

 

“I admire your bravery.”

 

“You should.”

 

“You should have seen the guys,” John sighed, smiling. “They _loved_ him! I practically had to pry him from Hobbs’ arms.”

 

Elizabeth laughed.

 

“Well, I’m more than happy to let you take him,” she said. “Though, if I find out that you had him in the car while you’re on rounds and chasing people, then I will emasculate you.”

 

“Of course, dear.”

 

John thought that it was probably a good idea _not_ to tell her that he had Genim on his lap during downtime and let him steer the cruiser and answer the radio…

 

* * *

 

When John came home from work, the last thing that he expected to see was Elizabeth glaring at him with her arms crossed over her chest.

 

“Hi?” John said meekly, giving her a confused smile as he hung up his jacket and kicked off his shoes.

 

“You need to have a talk with your son.”

 

Uh oh. _Your son_.

 

“Uh… okay?”

 

Elizabeth’s glare increased and John could feel himself recoil slightly.

 

“He got detention in school today.”

 

John frowned. “I didn’t know that they gave out detention in first grade.”

 

“They do when a seven year old lies about what he was doing when he was missing for a whole hour.”

 

John felt his blood run cold. “Missing?”

 

“Yes. For an hour. When the Stiles wandered back into class an hour after recess, and his teacher asked where he was, Stiles told her that he was in the nurses station. Turns out that he spent the entire hour sitting in the girls bathroom trying to talk to a little girl named Lydia.”

 

“So that warrants a detention?”

 

“For lying about where he was, missing for an hour, and sneaking into the girls bathroom, yes.”

 

“Boys will be boys, Elizabeth.”

 

Elizabeth’s face turned impossibly darker. John held up his hands in defeat.

 

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him.”

 

“Good. Because he’s up in his room and he’s not allowed to have ay toys or play with anything. He gets no dessert after dinner and is going straight to bed.”

 

“Come on, Elizabeth. Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on the kid?”

 

“I don’t care as much about the restroom as I do about the fact that for an entire hour, Stiles was missing. And then he had the nerve to _lie_ about it. I will not have our son lie about anything, John. It is unacceptable.”

 

“Alright, alright.” John nodded and made his way past her, running a hand through his hair as he did so.

 

When he got to Stiles’ room, he knocked three times on the door before letting himself in. Stiles was sitting at his desk, his math book open in front of him. But by the doodles on the paper, it didn’t look like he was getting anything done. He glanced up as John entered, face falling.

 

John closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossing over his chest.

 

“So,” he said. “You wanna tell me what happened at school today?”

 

His son’s face contorted. “Scott fell in the cafeteria and got mashed potatoes all over the table,” he told him.

 

“Is that all?”

 

“I got to play dodgeball in gym.”

 

“Stiles.”

 

Stiles sighed and slumped in his seat. “Mom told you…” he muttered.

 

“I’d like to hear it from you, son.”

 

“I was in recess and Scott and me were throwing a lacrosse ball around when it rolled into a pack of girls and one of them picked it up and threw it back and she was just so pretty, dad! Like, she had this long strawberry blonde hair and green eyes and she was just perfect! And I really wanted to talk to her, but recess was over, so I figured that I’d follow her back to her homeroom but I got lost and then I thought that she’d have to go to the bathroom eventually so I decided to wait there but she never came and then it was really long so I went back to Mrs. Roberts’ class and she was mad and then Scott told her where I was and she gave me detention…”

 

John raised an eyebrow.

 

Stiles fidgeted in his seat, avoiding his father’s gaze.

 

“So… all of this… was for a girl?”

 

“She’s not just any girl, dad!” Stiles exclaimed. “This is _Lydia Martin_! She’s… she’s perfect!”

 

Pushing away the giddiness of his son’s first crush for later, John shook his head. “Genim, do you realize that that is not why you’re in trouble?” he asked.

 

“So I’m not in trouble for going into the girl’s restroom?” Stiles’ head shot up.

 

John frowned. “No, that’s part of it. That’s wrong and you shouldn’t be in there. Ever. But that’s not why we’re angry. We’re angry and you got detention because no one knew where you were for a whole hour, and then you lied about it.”

 

“But I-”

 

“No.” John held up a hand to silence his son. “Genim, this is serious. You could have been injured or in trouble and no one would have known because we didn’t know where you were.”

 

“Scott knew…” Stiles muttered, looking at his feet.

 

“And your mother and I are going to have a talk with Mrs. McCall later,” John said. “Do you have any idea how worried your teacher was? How worried your mother was when she got that phone call?” John could feel his voice rising, but he felt that he was just in his actions. His son was his child, and he loved him. The thought of something happening to him haunted him constantly. “And then you had the _nerve_ to lie about it? You know better than anyone how wrong lying is, Genim! I’m very disappointed in you, young man.”

 

John could see Stiles’ lower lip begin to quiver and willed himself not to rush over and comfort the boy. No. He had to be a good parent and make sure that Stiles knew that he was did was wrong. It was hurting him to discipline his boy, but that’s what being a good parent was; that killing some part of yourself so that your child grew up knowing right from wrong, knowing what he could and could not do, but still loving them as they grew up to be someone you were proud of…  It was _hard_ being a parent.

 

John opened the door and gestured out to the hall. “Dinner’s almost ready. You are to go down to the kitchen and sit at the table. When you are done eating, you will finish your homework, take a shower, and go to bed. Do you understand me?”

 

Stiles nodded, head ducked.

 

“Genim?”

 

“Yes, sir…” Stiles said quietly, sniffling afterwards. He got up from his chair and slunk out the door. John followed silently. When they got downstairs, Elizabeth had dinner on the table and stood disapprovingly at the counter.

 

“Sit.” John commanded. Stiles took his seat quietly. John nodded once at Elizabeth and they took their own seats.

 

No one said anything during supper and when Stiles was done, John told him to go back upstairs and finish his homework. He and Elizabeth cleaned up silently, listening as Stiles raced upstairs and slammed his door shut.

 

“You don’t think we were too hard on him, do you?” Elizabeth whispered as she loaded up the dishwasher.

 

“No…” John said, uncertain as he rinsed off a few pots and handed them to his wife. “I mean, if we don’t lay down the law now, he’s going to run rampant.”

 

“He is not one of your hooligans, John,” Elizabeth hissed. “He is our son!”

 

“It’s the same concept,” John growled. “He needs to understand the limits!”

 

Elizabeth glared at him and they were silent again as they finished up. Elizabeth closed the dishwasher and leaned against it as John flung a towel on the counter and did the same.

 

“Being a parent is hard,” Elizabeth stated.

 

“You’re telling me,” John agreed.

 

* * *

 

“So… what exactly is it that you’re saying?” John asked, eyes narrowed and face confused. Elizabeth sat beside him at the table, while on the other side of the one way window Stiles tore about the room playing with the plethora of toys.

 

“I’m saying that your son has ADHD,” Doctor Quinn said. She shuffled the papers around in front of her. “I know that this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but honestly, it’s not the worst that I’ve had to tell parents.”

 

“ADHD?” John asked, frowning. “Like, the attention disorder thing?”

 

“Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder,” Quinn confirmed, still searching through her papers. “Yes, it’s when he has trouble paying attention to tasks, but there’s a few other signs that led me to this diagnosis. He can’t sit still, can’t stay quiet, the excessive talking, the impulsive behavior, the hyperactivity. It all leads to ADHD. It’s not the most sever case I’ve seen, but Stiles will have a difficult time if we can’t get him grounded a little.”

 

John scowled. “Um… ground?”

 

“He’ll have to be medicated?” Elizabeth asked, hand rising to her mouth as she began to chew on her nails.

 

“If you don’t want him behaving the way he is now, yes,” Quinn responded. She sighed and dropped her paperwork, looking at the parents. “Look, I know that this is difficult. You want your little boy to be ‘normal’ and not have to deal with this. But the fact of the matter is that this _is_ happening. By medicating Stiles, he’ll be able to better focus in school and get a better handle on his impulsive behavior and attentiveness. There are ways to go about this without medication, but I’m going to tell you from experience that the medicine is going to be better than anything else.”

 

Elizabeth and John exchanged glances.

 

“What would you recommend?” Elizabeth asked.

 

Doctor Quinn looked between the two before rummaging through her paperwork once more and pulling out a single page. She turned it around and slid it across the table so that the couple could read it as she pointed at things with a pen.

 

“It’s just a small pill that he’ll have to take everyday,” she explained. “Since he’s only eight, I’d start him off on a low dose. It should help him control his actions and attentiveness. Though, there are going to be some side effects.”

 

“Are they bad?” John asked, eyes flying over the sheet. He took Elizabeth’s free hand.

 

“Some are, but most of them are fairly benign,” Quinn clicked her pen and circled a few words. “Most common effects are restlessness, difficulty falling and staying asleep, loss of appetite, and increased heart beat.”

 

“But… none of that will directly effect his development, right?”

 

“No, not at all. You will have to change a few things around the house, though. Make sure Stiles stays on a schedule, give him time to run around and do something physical to let loose all that excess energy, make sure he gets a plenty of sleep, try and limit distractions, and make sure that you’re strict with your rules. If he doesn’t know his boundaries, he’s going to try and get around them.”

 

Elizabeth and John poured over the sheet. Quinn continued. “Keep an eye on his studies. Most patients with ADHD have a tendency to have problems keeping their grades up and need an extra push occasionally.”

 

John leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face. “This is just so overwhelming,” he muttered, glancing as his son ran about the room.

 

“It could be so much worse,” Quinn said, offering him a small smile.

 

“How?” he asked.

 

Quinn shrugged. “There are worse problems than ADHD. This is actually quite common. About five percent of children are diagnosed with it, most of them boys. Trust me, he’ll be much better off medicated than not.”

 

“Okay…” Elizabeth murmured, frowning. “If you think it’s for the best…”

 

“I do,” Quinn agreed. She reached over the table and patted Elizabeth’s hand. “It’ll be okay.” She smiled. “It’s really not the end of the world. He’s perfectly fine.” She stood and exited the room, going to get the prescription.

 

John sighed, biting his lip. “Well, at least it explains a few things…” he said.

 

“I guess…” Elizabeth replied. She turned to her husband. “But I guess we should be happy that it’s ADHD, and not something worse. I worried myself sick looking at those problems that children have…”

 

She’s right. It could be so much worse.

 

* * *

 

John desperately tried to get his breathing under control as he sat hunched over Elizabeth’s prone form, tears streaming down his face. His wife… his beautiful wife… was dead…

 

He choked on a sob, burying his face in one hand as the other clenched tightly to Elizabeth’s own cold one. Never again would her fingers curl perfectly around his own. Her beautiful lips would never turn up in a smile. Her gorgeous eyes would never light up. Her long legs would never entangle with his under the covers. Her voice would never sing, never would she laugh, twirl her fingers in her hair, bite her nails, kiss him good morning, hello, goodbye, goodnight, I love you-

 

A fresh wave of grief took hold and John had to bite down on his knuckles to muffle the sound.

 

God, why did this happen? How could she die? She was the strongest person he knew… and now she was gone. She was the one to ground him, to be the voice of reason when he could not. She was the one who knew exactly how to deal with Stiles when he-

 

Oh, God, Stiles…

 

What was he going to do? How was he supposed to raise their son by himself? How was he going to know what to do without anyone to talk to about it? What did he do when Stiles needed a gentle hand that he simply could not provide? Who was going to help him deal with Stiles when their son inevitably got into trouble, or did something stupid?

 

What was he supposed to do?

 

John took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get himself under control. Stiles would be here soon; Melissa usually brought him by on the way home from school.

 

How was he supposed to tell a ten year old that he didn’t have a mother anymore?

 

God, John was so out of his element… There was just so much to do. He had to plan the funeral and make preparations, all the while taking care of his son, grieving himself, and dealing with work…

 

And all by himself…

 

He was never going to come home to find Elizabeth in the kitchen, or sitting with Stiles as he did his homework on the kitchen table. He was never going to hold him in his arms again. Never going to slip into bed and have the other side be warm with her body. Never going to smell her shampoo, never going to see the little flakes of toothpaste on the bathroom mirror that Elizabeth always forgot to clean…

 

John rubbed a finger over Elizabeth’s knuckles, stopping at her ring finger. Her wedding ring, a small diamond sitting in the center, still sat glistening as it had the day he bought it. It was her pride and joy, and she kept it immaculate. He remembered when he proposed to her… Remembered the day she had panicked when she thought that she lost it, only to find it in Stiles’ grubby little hands.

 

His eyes traveled up her tiny body to the necklace around her neck. It was a simple ruby that John had gotten for her, picked out by Stiles, for this past Mother’s Day. She had still been hospitalized at that time, but Stiles had insisted on making it special anyways.

 

The entire time, Stiles had been understanding. He would come over right after school and stay with Elizabeth. He would do his homework, tell her about his day, and generally just talk her ear off; nothing out of the ordinary except for the change in scenery. The last few weeks, he had talked more to fill the silence that Elizabeth couldn’t. John would come over right after work and they’d stay until visiting hours were over. Then they’d head home, picking up some food on the way. Stiles would run upstairs to his room afterwards while John would camp out on the couch, a glass of scotch in his hand.

 

In the mornings, they would head over to the hospital for an hour, and then John would cart Stiles off to school and go to work, visiting on his lunch break before heading back out.

 

Rinse, lather, repeat.

 

Today… today had been different. This morning, Elizabeth had looked at him and sighed. John swallowed, took Stiles to school like normal, but then rushed back to the hospital.

 

Two hours later, her heart had stopped.

 

John took in a shaky breath and wiped his eyes. He heard the clamber on the other side of the door and then Stiles was tumbling inside.

 

“Hey, mom! So today at school, Scott-”

 

He stopped abruptly when he saw John, still hunched over Elizabeth.

 

“Dad?”

 

John closed his eyes slowly, briefly, before turning to face his son.

 

“Stiles…” he said quietly.

 

Stiles’ eyes went wide and he took a step back. “No…” For a ten year old, the kid was amazingly perceptive and smart.

 

“Come here, son…”

 

“No… no no no no no…” Stiles shook his head, eyes filling with tears.

 

“Listen to me, son,” John started, but Stiles shook his head and launched himself forward.

 

“Mom!” he cried, hauling himself up onto her bed. John winced as Stiles began to shake her.

 

“Mom, wake up!” Stiles exclaimed. “I have to tell you about my day! I have to tell you how Scott started a food fight at lunch and got spaghetti in Jackson’s hair! How Lydia wore her hair today! How Stephanie made the whole class laugh because she read thing in English and the teacher got mad!”

 

“Genim, stop…” John pleaded, feeling more tears build up.

 

“I have to tell her!” Stiles cried, face red and blotchy as tears streamed down his face. “I have to tell her! These are important things! She has to know! Dad, she has to know these things! She has to-”

 

John leapt forward and grabbed Stiles, pulling him into his lap as he wrapped his arms around the boy, pressing a kiss to his temple and tucking his head under his chin. Stiles clutched onto his shirt and turned his face into his father chest, sobbing frantically. John could feel his own tears falling, and he clutched Stiles closer.

 

There was absolutely no way John could do this on his own…

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until Christmas that John realized things had to change. He had been working long hours, trying to drown himself with distractions. Stiles had been silent for a week, not saying a word until two days after the funeral when he had asked if he could go back to school. John had nodded, numb, and drained the rest of his scotch, pouring himself another glass.

 

Stiles rode his bike to school the next day. John didn’t see him until he came home, the boy asleep on the couch.

 

On Christmas Eve, John was forced to take the day off by the rest of the force by locking him out of the station. He was angry, but even more so when he arrived home to find boxes of Christmas decorations adorning the living room. There was no place to sit, and Stiles was attempting to put the little plastic angel on top of their fake tree. The thing was already adorned with lights and baubles, tinsel covering every surface.

 

“Stiles!” John yelled, startling his son. He nearly fell off the chair he was standing on.

 

“Dad! You’re home!” Stiles babbled.

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stiles, this is not what I want to deal with right now…”

 

“I’ll clean it up, I swear!” Stiles promised, clutching the angel to his chest.

 

“That’s not the point!” John exclaimed. Stiles started. “I do not want to deal with this Christmas crap! I am not in the mood, and I do not want to see all this crap in the living room!”

 

“I… I just wanted to-”

 

John held up a hand. “No. Stiles, drop it!”

 

“But… I just figured that we could make it like before…” Stiles said softly.

 

“Well, it’s not going to be like before,” John cried. He could see tears gathering in Stiles’ eyes. “You cannot _make it_ like before!”

 

“I know that!” Stiles yelled, glaring at him. “But I just wanted to-”

 

“Just stop, Stiles!”

 

Stiles threw the angel on the ground and it shattered. He jumped off the chair and ran past John, flying up to his room.

 

“I hate you!” he screamed before slamming his door shut.

 

John let out a frustrated scream of his own, kicking the front door with feeling. He shoved a box off the couch and slumped into it, closing his eyes tightly against the onslaught of tears.

 

It was nine months, and both he and Stiles were still grieving. Nine months, and there was no end in site for these feelings.

 

“Oh, Elizabeth…” John whispered. “Oh, how I wish you were here…”

 

He was silent for a moment before he sighed, reaching a hand up to rub his forehead, feeling the headache approaching.

 

He was a horrible father. There was absolutely no reason to snap at Stiles that way, not when he was just trying to gain some sense of normalcy back in his life. John was still bitter over Elizabeth’s death, and every time he looked at Stiles, he saw her. It was almost too much for him to handle.

 

John sighed and picked himself up off the couch, heading upstairs. He knocked on Stiles’ door.

 

“Stiles?” he called softly. “Stiles, I… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have behaved like that… Can I come in so we can talk?”

 

There was no answer.

 

“Stiles?”

 

Still no answer. John frowned and twisted the doorknob, opening the door enough to poke his around it.

 

“Stiles?”

 

Stiles was sitting on the edge of his bed, hand clutched over his chest as he took in gasping breaths. John swore and rushed in, kneeling in front of his son and taking his face in his hands.

 

“Stiles, look at me!” John commanded. “Look at me! Breathe!”

 

Stiles stared at him, wide-eyed, breaths still erratic and gasping.

 

“Genim, you need to calm down!” John told him. “Look at me! Breathe with me, okay? In, out. In, out. In, out.”

 

Slowly, Stiles’ breaths began to even out, slowing. He had tears on his face, eyes wide as he refused to look away from John.

 

“There we go,” John muttered, offering a small, shaky smile. “That’s a good boy. In, out. In, out.”

 

Stiles took one large, choked breath and slumped forward, resting his forehead on John’s shoulder. John moved his arms and wrapped them around Stiles’ back, rubbing small circles to calm him.

 

It had been about a month since Stiles’ last panic attack; John had thought that they were passed that. Apparently not.

 

Quite some time passed before either spoke.

 

“I’m sorry…” Stiles muttered. “I just… I just wanted everything to be perfect, but I screwed up and I… I’m sorry…”

 

John sucked in a sharp breath and pulled Stiles off of him, holding him by the shoulders gently but firmly.

 

“You did not screw up,” John told him. “You are doing a wonderful job. If anyone should be sorry, it should be me. I haven’t been the best person since… lately. And today is just… it’s difficult. And I forgot that it’s difficult for you too. And I didn’t mean to yell or say anything that I did. I’m just… I’m tired and angry and sad and… and I’m just tired.”

 

Stiles nodded, wiping his face off with his sleeve. “I didn’t mean it, either,” he mumbled. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

 

“I know, buddy. I know,” John said, smiling. He stood up and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “What do you say we go downstairs and decorate the house our own way, then order Chinese and watch some James Bond? How’s that sound?”

 

Stiles sniffled. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

 

John gently tapped the side of Stiles’ face and stood up. Stiles followed and they both made their way downstairs.

 

Stiles made a wounded, choked sound when they saw the broken angel on the floor. John walked over and knelt down, picking up the pieces.

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” John told him. “It’s only broken in a few places. We can fix it with glue. It’ll be back to normal in no time.”

 

Stiles nodded and John stood up.

 

Two hours later, the house was fully decorated, the boxes stacked in a corner in the kitchen. Stiles and John were sitting on the couch, eating Chinese out of the cartons and commenting on the acting on the television. The angel, put back together, watched them from on top of the tree.

 

* * *

 

John loves his son. Really, he does. He loves that they can have a battle of wits and at the end of the day, Stiles still respects him as a parent. He can be both his friend _and_ his father. John absolutely loves being a father, but he adores being _Stiles’_ father.

 

But lately… lately it’s like he doesn’t even know Stiles any more. The late nights coming home, breaking curfew, kidnapping another boy, detention every night for a month, the scrapes and scratches and bruises… it was like entirely different Stiles. John was, of course, worried. His mind jumped from drugs to gangs and everything in between. He wasn’t stupid; he noticed the people that Stiles seemed to be hanging out with lately. The leather-clad teenagers, that Derek Hale character; Stiles was mysteriously missing for more hours of the day than John was comfortable with. The boy that Stiles was now is completely different from the happy, energetic boy that John knew and loved. He was a stranger to John.

 

John was worried. He was worried and scared and didn’t know what to do. This was not the boy that John knew. This was not the boy who manipulated him into buying a new laptop, but gave him his old one for Father’s Day. The same boy who begged and begged for a new car, and screamed with delight when John bought him his Jeep. The same boy who cooked cookies for him every other week, sugar free, and dropped them by the station on his way to Scott’s house.

 

Sure, Stiles got into trouble; he was a teenager and clever and couldn’t keep his mind occupied without constantly moving, doing something, thinking. But his grades were excellent, and he was a good kid, and that’s all that John could really want. Besides, he knew that Elizabeth would proud of him… _both_ of them.

 

Now… now, John was lost.

 

He sighed when he closed his office door, locking it behind him. Hobbs was walking down the hall towards him, and John waved and smiled.

 

“Hey, Sheriff!” the man grinned. “Heading home?”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” John sighed as the two began to walk to the front. They waved at Justine at the front and headed to their cruisers.

 

“Everything alright?” Hobbs asked, face scrunched in worry as they reached John’s car.

 

“Yeah… no… I don’t know…” John said, slumping against the car door.

 

Hobbs glanced at his watch briefly before leaning on the car next to him.

 

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked softly.

 

John was silent for a moment before he ran a hand through his hair.

 

“It’s just… it’s Stiles…” he replied.

 

“He okay?” Hobbs asked, worry in his voice.

 

“I don’t know!” John said. “That’s the whole problem! He’s… he’s not himself lately! He’s breaking rules, getting into serious trouble, _lying_ to me…”

 

Hobbs didn’t say anything, waiting for John to get it all out.

 

“I just… I feel like there’s something going on, something big, and he’s involved in it. But he won’t let me help and I feel like he’s going to fall somewhere terrible and he’s just slipping through my fingers. I know he’s a teenager and he’s supposed to be _mysterious_ but he’s… he’s scaring me. He’s coming home bloody and bruised and hurting and he disappears into those woods for _hours_. Hell, half the time I don’t even know where he _is_! He just vanishes! And how the hell he manages to do that with that Jeep is a mystery to me!”

 

“It is puzzling,” Hobbs agreed.

 

John shot him a glare. Hobbs shrugged.

 

“I just… I’m losing him, Luke. I’m losing my son to something that I don’t know what it is or how to face it. He’s a stranger to me. A stranger wearing my son’s face and using his voice. I… I don’t know what to do…”

 

Hobbs was silent for a long while. “Have you sat down and talked with him?”

 

“I’ve tried!” John exclaimed. “But every time, he blows me off!”

 

“John…” Hobbs said quietly. John perked up a little; Hobbs using his first name instead of Sheriff meant what he was going to say was important. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m judging your parenting skills, but… _you_ are the parent. You should sit him down and demand that he tells you what’s going on.”

 

“No one can make that boy do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

 

Hobbs glared at him.

 

“Every time I try to talk to him, he runs off… And I feel like if I keep him, then I’ll just lose him more.”

 

“John, you’re not going to lose him unless you _don’t_ do anything. Knowing and still not able to help may bad, but not knowing and having him lose _himself_ is worse. Because then both of you are miserable.”

 

John sighed.

 

“I suppose you’re right…” he muttered. He gave Hobbs a small grin. “Thanks, Luke.”

 

Hobbs returned the smile and laid a hand on John’s shoulder. “Anytime, Sheriff.”

 

John gave him a light shove. “Go home. See your baby girls. Tell Monica I said hello.”

 

Hobbs laughed and walked towards his own cruiser. “Will do! You let me know how it goes with Stiles, alright!”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

John shook his head as Hobbs peeled out of the station with a whoop and climbed into his car. On the way home, he stopped and got some Chinese, knowing it was Stiles’ favorite.

 

When he pulled into his driveway, he was both nervous and glad that Stiles’ Jeep was in the driveway. He closed the garage door behind him, toed off his shoes, and placed the bag on the table.

 

“Stiles!” he called. “I’m home!”

 

His son barreled down the steps, phone in hand and pulling on his coat.

 

“Hey, dad! Bye, dad!” Stiles cried, hopping on one foot as he tried to pull on a shoe.

 

“Where’re you going?” John asked, eyebrow raised and slightly amused.

 

“Uh… Scott’s. He needs my fabulous driving powers.”

 

John frowned. He gestured to the table. “I brought dinner,” he said.

 

“I already ate, thanks, though!” Stiles said, finally managing to tie his shoe.

 

“Stiles, wait,” he said. “We need to talk.”

 

“Can we do that later? Scott just texted me and-”

 

“Stiles,” John demanded, leaving no room for debate. Stiles stopped, turning to look at him, eyes wide.

 

“Yeah?” he asked, hesitant.

 

John gestured to the table, steaming plates wafting pleasant smells in the room. “Come. Sit.”

 

Stiles frowned and gestured to the door. “Dad, look, I really-”

 

“Stiles, it’s just a talk.” John pulled out the chair that Stiles normally sat in and walked to his own, sitting and pulling his plate towards him. “I’m sure Scott can wait thirty minutes.”

 

His son chewed his bottom lip.

 

“Genim…” John whispered, practically pleading.

 

Stiles closed his eyes briefly before shoving his phone in his pocket and walking over to the table, taking his seat. He picked up his fork and gave John a small, hesitant smile.

 

John smiled softly back.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not too sure if my research about ADHD is correct or not; I'm mostly going by what I know from experience and the Internet..


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